


That Time Castiel Met John Lennon In Heaven

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Friendship/Love, George Harrison - Freeform, Gift Fic, Gift Giving, Heaven, Hunting, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, John Lennon - Freeform, M/M, Mary Winchester - Freeform, Mindless Fluff, POV Dean Winchester, The Beatles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters are teaching Castiel how to work a case by investigating a run-of-the-mill haunted object problem in an antique store. As Sam teaches Castiel how to conduct interviews, Dean gets bored and wanders through the merchandise. He finds a Beatles record, which sends him spiraling back through the memories of his mother singing Hey Jude to him as a child. Castiel finds him and recognizes George Harrison and John Lennon from his travels through Heaven. And a few days later, Dean finds a surprise in his motel room....</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Time Castiel Met John Lennon In Heaven

Another antique store. Another case of haunted objects.

Bored out of his skull, Dean wandered around the store like a child looking for trouble, while Sam worked with Castiel on interview skills. His little brother always had more patience with teaching anyway. Dean just wanted to get shit done but he knew the angel needed some guidance that he didn't quite know how to give sometimes.

"When would you say the strange activity began in your store?" Castiel questioned in that rasping, monotone voice at the front of the store.

The manager considered it. "Ehh, probably three months ago."

"You waited that long to do something about a ghost throwing merchandise at customers?"

Reflexively, Sam cleared his throat and interrupted. "What my partner means is ... is ..."

Dean chuckled somewhere among shelves of hundred year old glassware. The angel's blunt nature pinned the interview into a corner and Sam struggled to talk his way around it. Maybe Dean himself could school him in the human art of lying later on after the case was completed. For the moment, he wandered through old things with the EMF detector turned on in his pocket - just in case.

The back wall of the store presented itself to Dean, covered in old posters of bands that he still blasted loudly in the Impala. Indignation rose from his chest to the most offended expression he could muster, bordering on the best of Sam's bitch faces. Those bands weren't old enough to have concert flyers and album posters sold in an  _antique_ store. They were still much more relevant than the Bieber bullshit on all the pop stations! It struck him as a travesty, although, well, that Zeppelin poster was pretty cool...

Curiosity got the better of him, and he casually leafed through a milk crate containing albums. Ah, he loved vinyl. Not many of them were worth the time of day though. A lot of records from the 80s when cassette tapes were beginning to take over music.

But one record stopped Dean with the sort of glee reserved for kids on Christmas morning. He plucked the record from the milk crate just to touch it. The Beatles. Rubber Soul.

"Holy shit," he whispered.

Dean hadn't seen a real Beatles record since he got dropped back in 1976 to see his parents. It tugged at some raw, buried place in his gut where the memory of his mother still hurt. She loved The Beatles. Vague recollections of her voice humming  _Hey Jude_ to him surfaced in his mind, though it wasn't a song on Rubber Soul. It didn't matter. His mother would have been just as excited about finding that record as him, especially knowing how rare Beatles records were in 2013.

Beeping interrupted his reverie. Dean glanced down at the EMF sticking out from his pocket, loud and lit up like a Christmas tree. He glanced behind him and found Castiel entirely too close over his shoulder.

"Cas. Personal space."

The angel looked ashamed. "My apologies." He took a step back. "Sam believes coming back tonight will be beneficial. The shop owner has proven less than helpful."

"Okay," Dean said, not really caring as he searched his pockets for his wallet. Shit. He left it at the motel.

Castiel tilted forward for a closer look at the album. His face tilted, eyebrows shifting in confusion. Or was it recognition? Half the time, Dean didn't even think the angel knew what he felt let alone what other people felt around him.

"What? Never heard of The Beatles?"

"No."

Shocking. The poor guy needed classes in human pop culture. He didn't understand how angels like Gabriel and Balthazar knew enough to pass as actual humans, yet Castiel remained as clueless as a nun on prom night.

Dean shrugged. "Well, I'd play the record for you if I hadn't forgotten my wallet at the motel. Sammy probably has his douchy iPod. You can ask him later."

Music appeared to be the furthest thing from the angel's thoughts. He squinted. A long finger pointed to a pair of mop tops. "These two - they're dead."

"Yeah..." Dean said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I have been to their Heavens. Interesting men." Just like that, Castiel lost interest in the topic, having no point of reference for the magnificent importance of The Beatles. "We should find Sam and leave. I'm certain he wants to consume food again. His stomach is empty."

"Hold on. Hold the shit on, Cas." Grabbing the sleeve of the trench coat, Dean yanked him back.

Castiel glanced at Dean's hand on his sleeve as if he couldn't believe the hunter actually manhandled an angel that way. Questioning, mildly offended blue eyes lifted to his, but gave way to curiosity at the way Dean stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He let go of the sleeve. The grip went on a little too long and he shifted awkwardly, drumming his fingers on the record.

"You're saying you  _met_ John Lennon and George Harrison?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Castiel so calmly. "Why?"

"You don't know... They..." A hand rubbed Dean's forehead. He tried to find the right words to explain it without going full-on screechy fangirl because Castiel sure as hell wouldn't understand that. "The Beatles are  _really_ important in music, okay? Don't you have music in Heaven?"

"Yes. Heaven's choirs. People still make music in their personal Heaven's as well, if they were musicians in life. This one--" Castiel leaned in and tapped John Lennon's face on the album cover. "He writes songs with instruments you don't have here. Strange songs." He shrugged. "I'm not a judge of music. I'm a soldier."

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What about George?"

"A gardener. I enjoyed visiting him much more. He gave me a tour of his garden and refused to discuss anything unhappy. I ... related to him, as you might say." He studied Dean in that way that crawled into his skin. The soul-studying intensity of those eyes were hard to look at sometimes. "Why are these men important to you? It's only a photograph on cardboard. You never knew them."

"My ... my mother," Dean replied gruffly, uneasy with discussing it. He looked at Rubber Soul. "I don't have a lot of memories left of her but one I do have is her singing one of their songs to me. It wasn't on this album though.  _Hey Jude_ was its own album that nobody can find anymore." His mind drifted, though he didn't want to get lost in those memories again. They were on a job, not a touchy-feely therapy session. He fake-coughed to clear his mind and he dropped the album back into the milk carton. "Let's get out of here. I'm starving."

The Winchesters and the angel Castiel went to a greasy diner, hashed out their plans, and returned to the antique store after it closed. A case of training wheels for Castiel, sure, but ganking anything felt therapeutic for Dean and he enjoyed the success of the night. One less ghost in the world made it a better place.

A few days later, three states away on a ghoul case, Dean couldn't work any more. He desperately needed his four hours, leaving his brother to do research for the night. Alone, he drove back to the motel and nearly salivated at the delicious idea of real sleep.

As he stumbled into his room, an out of place object on his bed caught his eye. He dropped his coat on the table and, striding across the room, stared in dumbfounded awe at the square image. Four familiar figures registered in his mind on - oh  _God_ \- an album. John, Paul, George, and Ringo. Late 1960s. Dean snatched the album off the mattress and flipped it over in his hands two or three times to convince himself that it was real.

Not Rubber Soul.

Better.

Hey Jude from 1970. An album so out of print that he never even considered looking for it in his life.

Immediately, Dean grabbed the phone from his pocket. "Sammy?"

"Yeah, what? I thought you went to bed."

"I just got in. Was it you?" Dean demanded.

Bewildered silence filled the phone line. "Was it me what?"

"Sammy, don't screw around! Hey Jude!"

"...Are you drunk again?"

Rustling wings fluttered behind Dean and he spun on his heels. Castiel stood before the window, a streetlight outside shining on him with a strange ethereal glow. The cornered of his mouth lifted slightly, crinkling the skin around his blue eyes. His head dipped in a slow, knowing nod.

The phone drooped from Dean's ear.

"You...?"

Castiel's smile grew. "Me."


End file.
